OZ Sucks
by aliencatt
Summary: In Solitary Confinement once more, Miguel Alveraz is not left alone... SLASH... non/con..read at your own risk ... with corrected spanish! Cheers!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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Series-**OZ**

**OZ SUCKS **( a quote not a statement)

Alvarez/ other male

Rating-**ADULT **

**WARNINGS**- M/M NON/CON **READ AT YOUROWN RISK**

Disclaimer- None of these characters belong to me. All property of Levison/ Fontana

Set at the end of season three, beginning of four

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**Author's note**.. .I wrote this a long time ago, my second ever story, so please be gentle with me! Enjoy!

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==000==

OZ sucks! This you know. This we all know. Suck up stale air and stale odours, suck up drugs crap food, suck cock. But it also sucks from you. Sucks up your time, your dignity and pride. Sucks up your soul.

Miguel Alvarez sat in the centre of the floor trying not to breathe. Every bit of air he sucked in was causing the walls to move closer. When the air ran out the walls would reach him, crush him. He was back in solitary once again. He had managed to escape from it only to ask to be returned but too late. So he was here for defending himself, his life. To keep himself alive, Carlos Ricardo had had to die. He had known they would come and soon, had been ready but still he sat here with the walls closing in to spend Christmas alone, no family, no friends but then, it was just another day in OZ.

How long had he been in here now? Three days? Four? He was determined that this time he would cope. He was healthier, he got fed this time and the pills kept coming. Here through justifiable actions, defending his own life, for himself, not trying to please someone else to fit in but he was still here due to the same man, Hernandez. And the walls were still closing in.

Face it, he had to breathe. Just as he had reacted instinctively to plunge the shank into Ricardo, his body called for life, for the air his lungs craved. Drawing up knees, he folded his arms atop, letting his head drop forwards and breathed deep. If the walls came at him he didn't need to see.

The panel in the door slid back and Miguel could practically feel the air rushing in and the walls recede and become still. Stupid, he knew they hadn't moved, that they never really did. He languidly looked up as if uncaring to see the maniacally glinting eyes of that fuckin' bitch Howell.

She loved to see scum in misery. Doing her hourly check, she just sneered and slid the plate back. Since she had caught him 'seein' to himself', she had stopped with the bang on the door, the calling of his name, probably hoping to catch him again. He could bet she would stand and watch if he let her, had thought about it but denied her, it was for his enjoyment not hers.

At night it was a different matter. Miguel could almost imagine himself somewhere else, could fantasise that the hand giving him a few moments of pleasure, of distraction, was that of his sweat Maritza. He would be warm, loved and not here. He'd only been caught the once at night, hadn't even realised until he'd finished, the male Hack staring in at him. Alvarez had just sneered at him, turned over and tried to recapture the warmth.

Getting up, he stretched straining stiff muscles. He had no idea how long he'd been sat there. Would having a clock help or just make the passing of time seem slower? Probably the latter. It's not as if he had appointments to keep or anything, he wasn't going anywhere.

It couldn't be long until lights out surely. He decided to do a few exercises. It was so easy to just sit here doing nothing and turn to seed. He had to keep in shape because, one day, he would be let out of here and you needed to be strong to survive. Strong in body and strong in mind.

His mind had let him down in the past, a weakness that had lead to many of his recent troubles but his strong body had helped him to survive. He could not trust his mind not to betray him again, he recognised that much about himself, so in the cramped room he did his best to keep in condition. And beneath it all he was also quite vain. Still.

A good looking face, he had been told so for years. Running the blade down his right cheek had not done anything to destroy his looks, had in fact, unintentionally, enhanced his appearance in a roguish manner. But none of this really occurred to him as, moving from sit ups to pull ups at the bars, he mainly just wished to tire himself out so he could sleep and leave this place for a few short hours, nightmares permitting.

The lights went out. No warning down here as in the rest of the prison, just another mind fuck game. He dropped from the bar, standing idly scratching at his stomach and let his body cool down. A few minutes and the sweat on his body turning cold, he moved shaking out limbs and prepared to sleep.

Crossing to the sink he stripped, throwing clothes into a corner, washed his body and teeth before the water supply was turned off for the night, finding everything with ease in the dark. He knew every inch of this cell, knew where everything was. He was trying to get his 'shit' in order these days and one of the few things he had any order over in a life that had been spiralling out of control was that he knew where his 'stuff' was kept. Small, possibly insignificant steps, shit, he was beginning to think like Sister Pete, were a start.

Ablutions finished, he found a clean T-shirt and boxers then got under the rough coverings on the squeaky rubber mattress. Lying on his back, hand on stomach, the other immediately moved to his prick. Nah. Nothing. Just wasn't in the mood. Wrapping himself in the too thin blanket, Miguel Alvarez turned onto his stomach and tried his best to escape.

==000==

TBC…


	2. Chapter 2

==000==

Sitting on the hood of his car, laughing at a none too clean joke, Alvarez felt relaxed hanging with his barrio boys. He was young, free and enjoying being alive with the sun warm on his face, its light bright. Very bright actually, a little too bright. Something didn't seem right but he was okay, nothing for him and his friends to fear. They were young and strong and in control of their destinies.

Half way through another joke and Miguel became distracted by a grinding noise. He turned trying to find the intrusion, the noise just didn't fit. He awoke, bright light hurting his eyes. It only took a second for the horror of being in OZ to strike him, a moment before he had been happy.

He sat up rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Surely it couldn't be morning already? He felt like he had only just managed to fall asleep. A slight shifting in the air and he froze. Something was wrong, there was a discordant note to the room. He looked through his fingers willing his eyes to clear. Was that a figure? Despair struck his heart, he'd thought he was past seeing people who were not truly there.

Looking down, passing hands through sleep tussled hair, he waited for his eyes to focus. Glancing up, shit, there was a figure, a Hack, hand still on the sliding bars, the noise of its closing must have been what had awoken him. There was another Hack stood outside peering in at him. What the hell? This wasn't right. One thing he knew, it couldn't be good. It never was.

The Hacks turned to look at each other and Miguel saw what he could only describe as evil grins. Fuck! This defiantly didn't look good! As the one inside nodded, the other, with a chuckle, closed the outer door sealing them in together. The Hack, what was his name? Miguel couldn't remember, had hardly ever noticed him before, turned his full attention into staring at Alvarez. He did not like that look, not at all. It gave him a foreboding of pain.

The moment stretched to what felt like eternity. If he spoke it would break the tableau but he needed to know what this man intended. Tall, lean, light brown hair with clear skin, actually rather good looking he found himself thinking irrelevantly. The tension was getting to him. "What?" defiant. The Hack just carried on staring. "Well? What the fuck you want?" Alvarez turned away as if not really interested.

"That's what I've always liked about you, Alvarez. So arrogant. So sure of yourself. At least that is, when your not being loco!" he laughed, "Adds to your charm."

Shit! Miguel had been expecting a beating but this sounded like more mindfuck games. "Come morning you won't be so... assured." The hand left the bars and moved to his Nightstick.

A beating then after all! Should he try to defend himself? If he fought him off, caused the man damage, it would obviously be in self-defence, as the Hack should not be in here. But then again, that's why he was here in the first place and who would believe an Alvarez over an Officer? No one. Except perhaps Mukado?

He'd always been good to him, seemed to have a soft spot for him. Miguel didn't know why, he didn't deserve it. Only one reason he could think of why the Father still liked him after all he had done but he didn't like to think that of the Priest. That it could be compassion never occurred to him. So maybe better to just take it and when the Priest or Dr Nathan saw him on their next visit, he would be 'saved'.

A tapping drew his attention back to the hand on the stick. As his eyes settled, the tapping finger began to stroke the weapon almost lovingly. A look of horror he couldn't hide took over his face as he looked up the body to the Hack's face. "Get up." Miguel didn't move. The Hack drew the Nightstick and used it to point at the head of the bed, the only blank space in the cell. "Against the wall. Now!" cool calm but containing the threat of malice.

Alvarez, conflicting thoughts running through his mind, chose what appeared the safest course of action and slowly left the bunk to stand against the wall, arms hugged defensively across his stomach. Looking to out stare the man, Miguel found he couldn't keep eye contact and kept glancing away. He was nervous and had no idea where this was heading, only that he was certain not to like it!

The Hack slowly sauntered towards him with the Nightstick held loosely. "Arms by your sides. Hands spread, palms to the wall." Miguel looked everywhere for a way out but of course there was nothing. "Don't make me repeat myself. You'll not like it," spoken as if it were a piece of friendly advice.

He didn't want to comply as a flare of defiance lit in his heart but, studying the expression before him on the much taller man's face, he chose the path of least resistance and placed his palms on the cold wall solid at his back, but stood slouching, trying to appear unconcerned.

The end of the stick poked into his belly pressing gently. The Hack's eyes were intent on the baton's movements as it was pushed up under the thin blue shirt drawing the fabric upwards exposing the stomach, the well defined muscles, moving as Miguel breathed rapidly giving a lie to his stance.

Head to one side, he watched the Hack's face as the stick moved to run down over his boxers, down his thigh then back up disappearing under the fabric. Miguel froze as the baton began to push at his prick. He was being slowly probed, the impulse to lash out held in check on realising the danger of the pain he would receive.

The Hack looked into Miguel's face studying the frightened visage. Yes, Miguel was frightened. This could be worse than he'd thought. Beatings he had not exactly gotten used to but he knew what to expect but this, judging from the man's face, was to be sexual, something he had always managed to avoid since being imprisoned, forced or mutual.

The Hack moved in closer, a smile twisting his lips as Miguel hissed his breath at the stick digging in, not painfully, but uncomfortable. The baton was removed with an amused chuckle and Alvarez lurched forwards on the attack. He was violently shoved into the wall, the Nightstick across his throat, a body rammed against him, a leg between his own and the buckle on the thick belt digging in painfully. "Get your fuckin' hands off me!" he forced out hoarsely.

The Hack didn't move then spoke slowly, deliberate into his ear, "Back on the wall!"

Miguel had grabbed at the man's waist trying to force him away. It didn't work so he relaxed to show all resistance gone and placed his palms, fingers spread by his sides, but feeling anything but. The pressure on his throat was lifted and the man stepped back.

Alvarez slumped for real, head turned away, breathing deeply. The open hand hit the left side of his face hard knocking him to the floor stunned. "Stand up!" the stick was thrown onto the bunk out of reach of the prisoner.

It took a few attempts but Miguel managed to stand unsteadily eyeing the Hack, seeing the intentness of his gaze. He was shaking, what was happening here? Was this to be a beating after all? That would almost be a relief. It was short lived as the radio followed the stick onto the bunk. Not knowing what to do, before he could react, the body was forcefully pressed against his, the man's hip pressing into his groin. Worse, he could feel the other's man's prick against his hip and it was growing.

The Hack rubbed his cheek against Miguel's and the pain from the blow made him wince and jerk away. A hand grabbed the other side of his face as the Hack pulled back just enough to study his face. Fingertips gently pressed into the abused flesh that was red and already showing signs of bruising. It hurt, there would be proof of this assault by morning, loud and clear. The fingers began to stroke tenderly as the man spoke, "You gonna to do as I say now?" and pressed hard on the last word.

Trying to suppress a gasp but failing, Alvarez admitted defeat. He was helpless, knew no help would come if he screamed, there would be no release by this man and what little pride he still held left him with no desire for the other inmates to have any hint of what was happening or would surely happen next. "Si."

The hand on his hair pulled his head back, "Si quien? Que?"

What did he want him to call him? Sir! Never! "Si, cualquier cosa," whatever. Fuck it. Him speaking in Spanish was really fuckin Alvarez off. It reminded him too much like the other man that insisted he bend over and do as he said causing him to end up in this situation.

"Bueno."

For fuck's sake and his accent was terrible. He felt like laughing at the totally frivolous thought but the man shifted, placing himself between Miguel's legs, forcing them apart, leaving most of Miguel's weight to be held up by his own, his prick pushing up into Miguel's. Both of the Hack's hands encircled Miguel's head as he was treated to a punishing kiss, the tongue trying to force its way in as Alvarez clamped his jaw and lips shut.

His head was being pulled by the hair and a hand was prizing down on his chin and then his mouth was open, the tongue seeming to surge in, feeling massive as it attacked the inside of his mouth searching, fucking him.

He had an impulse to try and bite it off, him and Beecher already had reputations for being loco, it would give them something else in common, biting off things that were forced into their mouths. But Alvarez' main instinct was to be still alive by morning so he held back. The hands released some of the pressure and began more of a massage. Miguel let the kiss continue, though not actually having any choice in the matter, but refused to give a response.

The Hack drew back as if for air, a thumb running over Miguel's now swollen bottom lip. He was smiling wistfully and looked into Miguel's wide startled brown eyes, then back to his lips. Leaning forwards once more he gently licked the same lip then he closed the gap and a kiss, a suck, another kiss this time gently coaxing, his tongue running under Miguel's top lip dipping inside, trying to seduce. Left hand behind Miguel's head, right arm moving to his back hugging shoulders, the Hack tried every technique he knew to get a response. He was not going to stop until he had one, good or bad.

Alvarez found his eyes closing, he couldn't help it at this, the first touch, hint of tenderness and pleasure he had had in the years he had been in this hell. He felt himself reaching for the feel of warmth of tenderness. The pressure on him relaxed allowing him to stand by himself, the body now gently pressing in, the arms holding him not restricting. He started to return the kiss, knowing nothing but the feel of lips on lips, tongues toying with and exploring each other. Pressing forwards, his eyes opened as the warmth was removed. Miguel's eyes focused on the smiling face of the man. Man.

Alvarez jerked backwards into the wall trapping the arms surrounding him, an agonised groan leaving his lips as he realised what they had just done. A hint of kindness, tenderness and he had been willing at that moment to give it all up. Everything he had left, his pride, his body, his soul, just to be loved once more. He was disgusted with himself and turned his face away.

"Miguel." No response and the arms were removed. "Miguel!" harsher. He turned back and saw the amusement on the Hack's face and was nearly sick. "Miguel. I never said you could put your hands on me!"

What? Alvarez let go as if burnt but his wrists were caught in a tight grip. He had been holding the man! His arms had moved around, hands holding onto shoulders covered in dark blue! The large hands tightened around his wrists, almost crushing, then the Hack threw them away to hang limply by Miguel's sides.

The Officer laughed, placing his own hands on Miguel's waist under the T-shirt and pushing him against the cold wall, began to explore, palms going over stomach and chest, rubbing firmly, snagging at nipples, pulling, kneading, playing with the scant hair between.

Miguel's hands were back on the wall, tensing, moving as if trying to find something to hold on to. He turned his face to the wall as far as he was allowed, the hands still pushing him backwards. Friction heating up his skin, the coldness at his back through the thin fabric, the contrast was as confusing as the thoughts running the gauntlet of his mind. The actions his body was receiving felt good on his attention starved skin, the coldness reminding him of how he should be in response to this same kind of attention, from a man, from a Hack, from a male Hack.

The man moved in close, hands on Miguel's hips squeezing as he leaned in to kiss him once more. Alvarez tried to turn away but was prevented by the body pushing up against him. He felt a kiss to his cheek, still sore, and then the mouth was moving closer to his, slowly, no rush, no urgency, not demanding but persuading.

Alvarez stared up at the ceiling trying to ignore all that was happening. He felt like crying and bit at his lower lip holding back the tears. He wouldn't cry for or in front of this Bastard! His hands fisted, stopping himself from pushing at the man, he would only be hit again and then be back to this.

A mouth on his nipping at his lips then back along his jawline, then the face buried itself in his neck, plenty of room as he strained away. A slight shifting and the hands moved up over and inside his boxers, the right back on his hip, the left turned palm against skin to lie against his belly then down, very slowly onto Miguel's prick. It then began to move slowly, trapped between Miguel's prick and the other's, rubbing against both as it did.

The Hack could feel the friction through fabric on his own prick and he knew he didn't have long to wait but Miguel was a different matter, he would need more work before he came. He eased off slightly as he worked Alvarez' pliant shaft until he felt a slight stirring. No matter what the man felt, he knew a cock would always respond, unable to resist independent of its owner. He checked, yes Miguel had closed his eyes, biting wonderfully at that bottom lip, not sure whether he was trying to ignore the movement on his cock or to enjoy. He didn't really care that much.

He rubbed his chin against the bruises on the younger man's face knowing it would hurt. Sure enough, with a grunt, Miguel moved that cheek backwards and away and the Hack seized the opportunity to capture that mouth, the mouth with lips he had fantasised crushing against his own ever since the night he had peered in watching the oblivious prisoner 'doin'' himself.

Tenderly seducing again until he felt that tentative slight response once more, then harder as the prick against his hand started to show its interest as well. His hand curled around the cock finding it not quite as big as his own but growing and began to glide along its length, building speed in direct proportion to the response.

Miguel gave up, gave in. Once his prick had begun to swell, sending sensations through his body, he was finding it difficult if not impossible to control. The contrast between the pleasure on his prick and the pain in his face, then that mouth gently but insistent on his own, crashed through his barriers. He gave up all to the sensations, ignoring the author and pressed into that mouth opening up to allow entry, pushed against the hand wanting quicker, firmer handling.

The Hack needed no further urging and used his right hand to move around and back to grasp Miguel's buttock, pulling him forwards onto himself. Hand moving more insistently, urgently, he jerked Alvarez off as his own prick humped against the hand and the now hardened prick.

Miguel could not believe he was going to lose it so soon yet it wasn't really that surprising. It had been so long since he had come to someone else's touch. The mouth left his as the Hack once more rubbed his cheek against Miguel's, this time the other side. The Hack was so close and all it took was the feel of Miguel's arms circling his back, hands grasping at his shoulders, pulling him closer and that mouth open against his neck.

He came body shuddering against Miguel, his hand pulling hard sending a gasping Alvarez over the edge, spurting into his underwear and over the hand that had brought him to this. Brought him to be clinging tightly, desperately, not only to a Hack but to this male Hack and he didn't even know the man's name.

Collapsing together in a tangle of arms and emotions, both slowly returned to the here and now separating slightly as mouths found each other for a long deep brutal kiss. At the hands leaving his shorts, Miguel felt a trail of his own still warm liquid upon his belly as they circled then rested on his waist, holding his sides lightly as the kiss deepened even more then, mutually ended, as they both seemed to run out of energy.

The Hack stepped back, Miguel losing his hold as his hands slid down and off the man's body. He leaned back panting against the wall, left hand resting on his stomach and stared at the man as he stood straightening his uniform.

The blonde man reached down, picked up his radio and, fixing it to shoulder and waist, fastened the buckle on his belt and looked up through fair lashes speaking laughingly, "You just looked so lonely lying there, working yourself! Thought you might appreciate some company."

Miguel was speechless. He had forgotten the face peering in at him a couple of nights ago. The Nightstick was retrieved and placed back in its loop with a snap. Without another word the man slid open the bars, pushed the door wide and locking Alvarez in looked at him once, a satisfied smile curling his lips then quietly closed the outer door.

Miguel Alvarez remained unmoving, staring at the grey door, the sound of the bolt sliding home snapping into his soul.

==000==

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

Slowly surfacing, a voice harsh cutting through the darkness, calling him forwards, Alvarez slowly focused on the words. "…up. Alvarez, I said get up!" Another shove.

"Que..?" he mumbled opening his eyes, his face pushing into the scant flat pillow.

"Mornin' sleepy head," spoken sarcastically "Now. Get the fuck up!"

Miguel lifted his head slowly focusing on the angry figure, Howell! Fuck that's all he needed. He felt like shit. Pushing himself up, he felt pain, a throbbing down the left side of his face. Licking dry lips he hissed, they were swollen and tender. Sitting, the blanket pooling at his waist, he raised a hand to feel at his face and saw his wrist, saw angry bruised skin. What the fuck? He checked the other one, it was identical. He just sat there staring.

"Oh shit, Alvarez! What you done to yourself now?" She sounded amused, far from concerned.

"What?" he tried to say as pain made him wince. He looked up at her.

"Oh Fuck!" she laughed. He squinted trying to see what was so funny. "Dear me. What have you gone 'n' done to that handsome face of yours?" She smirked, leant in, hands on hips, scrutinising him.

Miguel was confused, his head hurt, it was painful and foggy all at the same time.

She stood back. "Not so handsome now, pretty colours though!" laughing, leaving the cell "Get the fuck up. Now!" her parting shot. The bars slammed shut. So funny, she always enjoyed seeing what he would do to himself next.

Alvarez was not amused. He didn't understand, could not remember how he had gotten like this. Sitting on the edge of the bunk he wrapped the blanket around himself and stared at his feet. He felt like he had a hangover, what with his memory missing and his body aching in every part, the muscles sore. Tentatively, he touched the left side of his face. It was swollen, tender just like his lips and very painful. His tongue searched his lips again wincing as the bottom one split.

It was as if he'd been hit! Shit his mouth hurt. Running a tentative tongue around his teeth, a couple at the top on the left were loose. Head in hands, elbows on knees he tried to ignore the headache and think. Fuck!

His head snapped up, pain shooting through him as it all came flooding back to him, the terror he had felt, the pain he had suffered and the shame. Alvarez couldn't comprehend all that had happened, all that he had done but the bruises on his body gave stark testimony that it had indeed happened and it was there for all to see.

Yet Howell thought he had done it to himself. Or was that a lie and she knew he had been assaulted? Because in truth that's what had happened. If so, she undoubtedly didn't care, knowing her, the whore, she would have enjoyed the show as she obviously found his present state amusing.

"Shee-it man! What happened to you?"

Miguel looked up at the grinning face of the homeboy as he placed his breakfast on the door's ledge. 'I've been beaten, sexually assaulted and I enjoyed it', he wanted to say. He turned away, "Nothin'"

"Ah come on man. Spill. Who fucked wit you?"

"Move it!" and the breakfast boy was roughly shoved along by Howell, the try falling to the floor, the food spreading out. "An Alvarez, for the last time, get the fuck up! An' clean up that mess before your visitor arrives."

Miguel looked up. "What? Who?" His bottom lip re-split as he spoke.

"You know, your little play buddy, Mukado. Best clean yourself up too." She said pointing at him, "Wouldn't want to give your 'friend' a shock would ya?"

She was such a fuckin bitch. But she was also right, Miguel couldn't let the Priest see him like this. He didn't want to face the questions or the pain in the man's eyes. Didn't want him to see the shame in his own.

Very slowly as the outer door slammed shut, Alvarez stood letting the blanket fall back. He took one step forwards then stilled looking down unbelievingly. On his boxers he was wearing the dried evidence of that shame. He couldn't get his head around this and not due to the dull throbbing there. A Hack had come in, beat him, fuckin' abused him and then made him come moaning in pleasure. He felt filthy.

Quickly getting into the shower in the corner before they turned his water supply off, he scrubbed at himself under the frail lukewarm jet. Still it stung at his sore flesh but he steadfastly ignored the pain, as he wanted to wash the taint away. The water stopped before he'd done, he'd been too tardy in getting up.

Finishing as best he could, he moved to his breakfast, his stomach rumbling at the thought. Well that was out. No matter what this place did to him, he would not succumb to eating off the floor. Dignity and pride was all being sucked out of him, sometimes in short harsh bursts, but that he would never do.

Hurrying, he cleaned up the mess back onto the try while hearing the familiar noises as the rounds were done, retrieving the empties from his fellow residents down here. Then he dressed, choosing from his meagre collection of clothes those that would do most to cover him.

Done, his try removed and the door clanging shut once more, he sat doing his best to ignore all the aches his exertions had flared and waited for help, for forgiveness.

==000==

"Miguel? Please look at me." Father Mukado frowned as the man he had come to see remained in the corner, face hidden from view. "Miguel?"

Alvarez just stood there, his right hand picking at the wall by his face. He couldn't let the Father see him.

"What's wrong?" spoken gently, "Talk to me, please."

Everything in Miguel wanted to turn to this man, throw himself at him and hold onto that gentle being, to never let go, to beg him for help to stop all the bad things from happening to him. "Go away."

"Miguel please, let me help you." Ray moved towards him with a hand raised to touch the troubled man. Miguel must have heard him as he pushed himself further into the wall as if wanting to pass through it. Mukado stopped short, he had experience of the man's violence when he got like this. The last thing he wanted was to be the cause of pain for the Latino; he hadn't forgotten the beating he had received supposedly for attacking him once before.

"Leave me alone."

That Ray could never do. This man needed help, a lot of it. "Okay," he said feeling resigned, "I'll come back tomorrow, see if you want to talk then."

"No" frightened.

'Give me strength', Mukado prayed. "Miguel. What's wrong? Has something happened? Look at me please."

"Fuck off!" screamed over his shoulder then face back in the corner covered by hands.

That threw him. Miguel had never sworn at him before like that.

"Mukado? You okay?" the screamed curse had brought Howell.

"Yes. Yes I'm fine." Turning back to the desperate figure in the corner, "Miguel, I'll leave. Come see you next week. That's next year in fact." He tried to lighten the mood but got nothing in return so he continued, "It'll give you time. But if you change your mind, let me know?" He turned, walking slowly from the cell, nearly missing the muffled, "I'm sorry." Looking over his shoulder, Ray replied quietly, "So am I," and left. He needed to speak to Peter Marie.

When Dr Nathan had arrived with his pills and to check on him, it had been easier to get rid of her. He just hid his face as he curled up in the corner of his bunk. He knew she was busy, that she didn't have the time to uselessly hang around. There were others who needed her just as much, more so probably. She had just put the pills down and noticing no real change in him, left.

He felt bad, he liked her. She had always been kind to him, to his grandfather too. He'd told her before how much it all meant to him and just hoped she understood if he didn't want to talk now.

That had been hours ago. It seemed like an eternity since there had been any movement near him, his dinner being the last contact with the world outside of this, oh so small, hell he was in. Time was stretching, each second longer than the one before but he knew 'lights out' was rushing towards him and he wondered what new terrors would it bring?

He had spent most of the last hour ripping up the blue boxershorts and feeding the small shreds into the toilet, watching as each piece was flushed away.

Now he sat rocking on the bunk in time to the ticking he could imagine counting down to 'lights out'. Tick, backwards, Tock, forwards. He was just so confused. He didn't know what to do, what to think. He didn't even know what he should be feeling!

The Hack, still nameless as he had not dared to ask anyone, had come into his cell during the night, hit him hard and then sexually assaulted him. All that was clear, obvious, but what wasn't was his reaction. One moment he was scared, then he as willing to do anything just to keep that warm contact, then he felt sick and disgusted and then finally, he had enjoyed.

Yes, not only had his body craved the attention it received, so had he. He had let himself go. He had enjoyed sex with another man. A Hack at that! Not full on body contact thankfully, he hadn't been fucked. His belly flipped over at the thought. Shit. No he didn't want that surely?

His mind, unbidden, began running scenarios, a large body on top of him, himself opening up, welcoming the hardness pressing inside. He sprang up and began pacing in the cramped room. Three steps, the wall, turn, three steps the bunk.

Pulling at his hair, he felt panic well up. This was all new to him. He had never harboured desires towards another man, personality or body. Now he could not stop thinking about it. What if the man came to him again tonight? How would he react? Should he fight? No, he didn't want to fight, he was tired of fighting, but knew he should.

Should he just let the Hack use him? Lay back and let it happen? The thought, the stirring he felt at it now, no, he couldn't just let himself be taken. But his body was letting him know he might just respond, that he might indeed welcome him.

But the thought of being fucked by a man, by a Hack, scared him. The thought of any physical pain was minor but if he was this confused now, what would he be like if that happened? He had never been interested in gay sex but he was just so lonely and no matter what his mind said, he had to admit that he had enjoyed the encounter, bruises aside.

This was a nightmare. Yet another waking crisis he just could not handle.

Lights out. Shit! He jumped onto the bunk, crouching in the corner, jammed into the wall. How long would it be before he came to him? What if he didn't? Shit! Alvarez didn't know which scared him the most.

He just did _not_ know, didn't know, did not _know!_ Curling up even tighter, he settled down to wait and began to cry.

==000==

TBC...


	4. Chapter 4

A/N... I would like to apologise for my incorrect spanish. Thanks for the heads up, zephyr hb. I shall endeavour to do better and hope i did not cause offence with my ignorence. Cheers.

* * *

Alvarez awoke not realising he'd fallen asleep. Still crouched in the corner, his muscles had cramped stiff. Was he here? Had he come to him? Darkness. Miguel searched the cell but his eyes were unable to see anything in the near pitch.

He listened intently.

Nothing.

Relief that he was alone.

Disappointment that he hadn't come.

Groaning, he uncurled himself, stretching out and climbing over the bunk to sit on the edge. His first thoughts were so contradictory. Hell! He'd suffered depression before, was, in fact, still on the happy pills, but now was he becoming schizophrenic as well? He felt like he was been torn apart, two different people fighting over his body. But then he couldn't be or he would not know it was happening. But then again...? Fuck his head began to hurt.

Standing, moving to the toilet, finding his way easily in the darkness, he found he was still fully clothed. He should undress just in case he came. Urarrhg! His bladder needed relief so he began to piss concentrating on the noise his water made, cutting out everything else, focusing on the practical, the mundane. Finished, he pulled up his jeans and decided to remain clothed. A grin hidden in the darkness, he returned to lay stretched out on his narrow bed and settled into wait once more.

==000==

This time he had to be woken. "Diez minutos más," he was shaken again. He half came around, his arm going over his eyes against the light. "Maritza. Por favor, diez minutos más!" A slap to his stomach connecting with bare skin. That got is attention.

He sat up, moving backwards to sit against the wall. The Hack stood staring down at him amused. Miguel rubbed a hand across the stinging flesh, looking up. Surprise, he had come back. Shock, he had come back. Relief, he had come back. All filtered across his face. Obviously still confused then.

He settled for a petulant look, let the Hack make of it what he will. He'd never been good at being woken especially since being in OZ as it always seemed to be to bad news, danger or just another shit day inside. What was this to be he wondered?

The Hank's radio was removed with purpose and dropped to the ground and the man then sat next to Miguel, facing him, baton in hand. He reached forwards and ran the stick along his top lip, the bottom then inside along Miguel's bottom teeth, reopening the lip as it was forced down.

Alvarez didn't move, he was totally at a loss as to how to react to this, wanting to pull back at the slight pain but he remained frozen, his eyes intently watching the other's face.

"Sore lips," the man spoke "Umm me too. Took some explaining when I got home."

Miguel nearly asked what? Who to? But remind silent. The question must have been in his eyes though for the other laughed, "To my girlfriend of course!" he said confiding.

Jealousy swept through Miguel but then again why the fuck should he care? The stick was removed and, leaning forwards, it was replaced with a chaste kiss.

Still no response from Miguel. He tried again sucking on that gloriously swollen bottom lip, licking, then as Miguel's mouth opened, oh so slightly, placed a hand behind his head and pulled him into a deep long caressing one.

Miguel's mind went blank to all except the touch on his sensitised lips, mouth moving in response, nipping, sucking at the other until he tasted his own blood and pulled back slowly not wishing to cause offence. He was still totally ignorant of this man's reactions. The Hack sat back looking at Alvarez, seeing the blood, a bright red smeared across his mouth, he licked his own, the taste metallic on his tongue.

Miguel stared in horror. Didn't he realise how dangerous that could be? Especially in this place. And if he showed that little regard for his own health, it guaranteed that the sex, if it did indeed come, would not be safe, if any sex in this place could ever be called that, rubbers or not.

"Don't look so worried. I checked your Med records. Always do." Miguel knew about himself. What about you? he wanted to scream. Still watching his expression the Hack smiled, "Me? I checked out clean too!"

That set something else knocking at Miguel's brain, 'always do?' So he was not the first prisoner, not by a long way from the sounds of it. Any romantic notion that it was Miguel Alvarez that had wholly attracted this man fled. He was just another available body to fuck.

The man, seemingly oblivious to the brief look of hurt on Miguel's face, leant away to put a hand into a pocket and pulled out a small pot and from another a tissue. Licking the tissue he cleaned up Miguel's mouth and chin then, opening the pot, he dipped a finger then spread the pale pink cream on his own lips rubbing it in. Offering it to Miguel he said, "Lipbalm?" as if offering him a cigarette.

Miguel just stared. Shrugging his shoulders, he re-dipped and, reaching over, spread the grease onto Miguel's lips. Alvarez had to admit that it was soothing. The tub replaced, the man turned his gaze along Miguel's body motionless besides him, "Still dressed?" as if to say 'you didn't get ready for me?'

Rubbing lips together, Miguel thought back to his earlier decision and spoke the truth, "I've always liked to undress my partners. Thought you might too." There he had said it and burnt his last bridge to a former life.

The Hack considered, tilting his head gazing at the young Latino seeing some of his assurance and cockiness returning. That's what had marked him out months ago. He was pretty sure Alvarez had never really noticed him but the Hack had been waiting for his chance. When it came, a swap with a fellow guard, bored with the nightshift down here, and he was in. In here. "Slowly?"

A glint appeared in Miguel's eyes. "Not always," he replied with a grin to his lips, the first the man had seen for a long time.

He smiled back, "Oh yes, definitely slowly!" and put his hands to Miguel's sleeveless T-shirt, the first layer. Miguel decided to give no help remaining still, the grin gaining ground but no hindrance either. If he was going to do this, allow this man to touch him, play with him, fuck him, he had decided as it looked to be inevitable, he might as well enjoy himself.

The Hack saw the challenge and laughing, pulled Miguel towards him for a kiss careful of his lip, not wanting it to split yet again. Then his chin, jaw, neck and as Miguel's hand moved from his stomach to join the other in reaching towards him, he took the chance to pull the shirt up over his head.

Alvarez sat back allowing it to be pulled down and off his arms then loosely folded them across his chest. The Hack was going to have to work for it.

And he was willing to.

He had hoped that Miguel would be responsive and he was, after a little cajoling and only slight violence. He had been willing to try much more of both to get what he wanted, would have taken it if all else failed but he was glad that hadn't been necessary as he already regretted the bruises maiming that face and this was much more fun.

He got up, kicked off his shoes then moved to straddle Alvarez' thighs. Letting his weight settle on the man, he drove his hands up under the remaining long sleeved T-shirt, up his stomach onto the chest held under the folded arms. Leaning forwards, he gave short quick pecks to that grinning mouth.

Miguel didn't move. Deeper kisses and the hands moved down his sides and began of all things to tickle him. Miguel gave in laughingly, returned the kiss and raised his arms. The shirt was up and off in no time then joined its companion on the floor.

Rocked backwards, encircled by strong arms, Miguel settled in to be languidly kissed, glorious. He didn't need the slight movement of hips above him, slowly grinding onto his groin, to cause him to begin to harden for he was certain that, a kiss like this, could excite him unaided every time. The kiss broke away from him, the Hacks mouth practically pealing from his lips. Uttering a heart felt groan at the separation, it was this kind of contact he had missed the most, the tenderness, he was about to utter the man's name and was brought up short. He still did not know it!

The man leant forwards again, head bent, aiming for a shoulder. Miguel placed a restraining palm on his chest and felt the compact muscle through the fabric. The Hack looked at the hand then at Miguel's face, an eyebrow raised in question. He better not be having second thoughts as that body was just waiting to be explored. Placing hands on that slender stomach he waited for Miguel to decide to ask his question, he knew he could be intimidating, relied on it in fact.

Alvarez wasn't intimidated exactly but not knowing how this Hack could or would react, being confident and fairly conceited, his question might not go down too well. He almost had ceased to worry about a violent reaction to anything he did now, now he worried that the man might leave.

While thinking how best to phrase his request, his fingers began to undo the buttons on the dark blue shirt, top three undone, he slid his hand inside. Damn, a T-shirt. Biting his lower lip, the undamaged side, he applied both hands to the business of relieving the man of his shirt finding no resistance.

Maybe the Latino hadn't wanted to ask anything after all. Alvarez looked up, the query still evident in his eyes. "Ask Me." He pulled at the hair on Miguel's chest then a nipple. He squeezed it between thumb and finger, ran a nail over it as it stood erect under the attention. Still waiting, he pinched his current toy painfully.

Miguel hissed at the pain, blood rushing to flood his prick, pleasure and pain all at once.

"Well?"

Miguel looked bashful up through dark lashes. "Tell me your name. Who are you?"

He knew it! Miguel Alvarez had never taken any notice of him. He had been working this prison for years and to him he was just another nameless Hack! So if he were a man of mystery, so he would remain. Pretending to consider he decided, "Call me Amante!"

'Dios! Where did you learn your Spanish?' he thought, 'your accent's terrible'. The Hack laughed. Miguel was horrified, he hadn't meant to speak it out loud.

Amused, "From an old girlfriend."

Alvarez felt some of his bravado returning, at least the man had a sense of humour. "So. You have a 'thing' for our darker skin?" pushing to the side the remembered slurs. He knew what he was and compared to the paleness above him?

"Not necessarily. Depends on the whole package!" He was fed up with the banter, moving backwards off Alvarez, off the bunk, he pulled the man along the bed by his legs, lying him flat.

Miguel, taken by surprise, had a brief moment of panic. Had he pushed him too far? No more time to think as the waistband of his, luckily too big, jeans was grabbed and yanked down, no finesse just down and off. Left lying prone on his back, totally naked, Alvarez felt as vulnerable as he ever had and watching as the mans T-shirt swiftly joined the pile of clothes on the floor, his instincts took over, he couldn't meekly lie there waiting.

Swinging his legs off the bunk, he stood then moved towards the other man, hands raising to touch the broad chest before him. Next thing he knew he was sprawled back on the bunk, staring up into an angry face. "What the fuck was that for man?" he demanded indignantly. This time he saw the blow coming, so curled up with his arms protecting his head. The blow never landed instead he was wrestled onto his knees, head and arms forced down. His legs were pulled apart and he felt the Hack climb between them.

Oh shit! He was going to be fucked now, forced, and by the look he had just seen, far from gently! He began to panic, all his decisions, fantasies forgotten as he surged forwards, climbing away. His hips were grabbed and he was forced backwards, still struggling, to sit on the man's lap, a hand grabbing his forehead and pulling it back, the other arm around his chest, pining his own.

He continued to fight until the man's mouth clamped to his neck, teeth digging in either side of his jugular. He stilled, he wouldn't put anything beyond this man! The teeth left him, the mouth beginning to kiss, almost devour along his neck and shoulder with teeth once more digging in, biting just short of breaking skin, but he would be marked.

Alvarez was trembling. He could feel the man's prick pressing between his butt cheeks, only the fabric protecting him. He did not believe it would be protection for long. He gulped air, eyes desperately searching the ceiling for an escape he knew was not there. The mouth at his ear, "Miguel, you were doing so well. Why spoil it? Remember you agreed to do whatever I want?" He did remember, it had been a through away remark, not made in the manner it had been taken.

Obviously he had been wrong. This was not to be a mutual relationship. His arms were released as the hand roamed his body kneading him on his chest and stomach, pressing in on his belly. The other hand joined in, moving down the outside of his hips, thighs, then was dragged up slowly along the inside, cupping the flesh, pressing, working their way up to dig into the join of legs to body, thumbs digging in hard either side of his prick then flicking at his balls.

Under his panic, Miguel was aware of the effect those hands were having, teasing, exciting his prick but never touching. He moved forwards, his hands resting on the other's forearms, wanting to encourage the hands on, hoping he could get things back to a safer, less painful encounter. "Be still!" no room for interpretation, an order. He stopped, almost sobbing, his head dropping.

Moments before they had been two people enjoying each other, now he was just a plaything once more. A hand moved upwards running a tantalising finger along his length, fingering up the centre of his body to hold his neck, cupping his chin and forcing his head back to rest against the man's shoulder, his right cheek rubbing against the man's face.

"Stay!" The fingers spread, thumb toying with his ear, a finger on his lips playing, dipping into his mouth. The other hand moved to surround his prick, stroking. Two passes and Miguel could not be still. His back arched as he rubbed his face against the man's, his mouth trapping the finger playing there, sucking, licking and his hips wriggled on the man's lap.

He didn't know where to put his hands but he had to hold onto something. Arms at his sides, his hands grabbed the man's thighs through the fabric. He was lost now to sensation, all thought of punishment or retribution gone. All he knew was the hand working him, the fingers at his throat, in his mouth and the hardness pressing up into his butt.

He could hear moaning, unsure if it belonged to the man moving beneath him or himself. His prick was pulled, a thumb digging into that so sensitive spot just behind his head. No more, he couldn't take it any longer and with a violent shudder, he came groaning out his ecstasy. The hand clamped over his mouth, two fingers deep inside as the other continued to work him, causing him to spurt his last into the cupped palm. His own hands dug hard into the man's thighs leaving his own marks. He collapsed back against the body supporting him, gasping around the muffling hand.

Before he could recover, he was savagely pushed into the thin mattress, face against the rough sheet. His fists clenched, grasping the sheet as he felt a hand pressing down on the base of his spine and his own warm cum spread on his open, exposed arsehole.

Once more his emotions reversed from the heights of orgasm to fear as he felt a nail lightly scratching across his rim then his own liquid spread onto him. He squirmed, trying to get away from that finger.

Tears sprang to his eyes. He was such a fool. How could it come to this? To allow himself to end up in such a ridiculous situation, face down, ass stuck in the air? He would have preferred to be shanked. Instead he was being prepared for shafting! And he had wanted it! To be fucked! But not like this!

All thoughts of mutual pleasure fled as a finger was forced inside of him, pushing straight in to it's length. He would have screamed out at the invasion but he did not want anyone to hear his plight... His shame. He was being taken like some prissy little Prag but now, all he knew was pain, searing as his asshole clenched tightly around the alien object. Gasping, panting and sobbing, his body shuddering as it was wracked with spasms.

The Hack was enjoying the sight of Miguel's muscles rippling as he shook. He waited, giving time for Miguel's body to adjust to his intrusion, watching the rise and fall of his shoulders, his muscles clenching and straining. Running his free hand over skin, across the protruding shoulder blades then down along his side, he was thrilled at the flinching he caused.

Enough! He shifted slightly, undoing his pants as the tightness of Miguel began to fade with a pulsing then easing. He began to move his finger, circling, stretching and preparing Alvarez. He could not wait as he had been controlling himself far too long. So, forget finesse, forget gentleness. This was only a con after all, he didn't have to make him breakfast.

He pulled out his finger eliciting a hiss from Miguel, muffled but distinct and spread the rest of the cooling cum over his cock, harder than it had been in weeks and, grabbing Miguel's hips, he lined himself up, placing the head at the red inviting rim. This would be good, a tight virgin asshole. He was lubed enough for himself, for his own pleasure, sod it if it wasn't enough for prisoner. He slowly pushed forwards, his grip on Miguel's hips tightening, preventing the inevitable attempted escape.

Resistance, then, he was in. He stilled as the man beneath him tightened up, screamed into the mattress and waited for the adjustment, not so much concerned at the other man's pain as much as he didn't want to cause damage, spoiling it for his future pleasure. He had learnt from past mistakes.

Oh yes, Alvarez had been a good choice. Slight relaxing around his eager cock, he couldn't expect anything more and he pushed forwards, impaling himself to the length. Oh, the heat, the tightness. He could feel himself on the verge already. No! Not yet! He wanted to enjoy. Pulling back he surged forwards again.

Miguel's face was forced further into the mattress and he had to turn his head before he suffocated against the rubber under him. His entire universe consisted of pain as, in his ass, the man's prick felt so big it threatened to tear him wide apart. He stared at the rose inked into his hand, following the lines, anything to try and lead his mind away. He felt burnt, the friction intense as the prick was withdrawn, almost leaving him, then clenched his teeth on a scream as he was rammed once more.

As he moved forwards, hands grabbed him by the shoulders, forearms on his chest. He was pulled backwards, raising from the bed, a chest on his back, a face next to his. A strangled, "Support yourself"

What?

"NOW!"

Miguel grabbed at the rail of the cot, arms taut as he found he had to support the weight of them both. Teeth clenched so hard his jaws hurt. "Por favour ayudame." Help me, he prayed to anyone that would listen to a prisoner's pleas. The Hack's left hand joined his own on the rail, easing some of the weight as together they surged forwards once more, the Hack's face buried between his shoulder and neck. Had he spoken aloud again? And if so, did this Bastardo think he had been talking to him?

The change in position allowed the Hack in even deeper. He quickened the pace, knowing he would explode at any moment as he could not contain himself longer. With a roar, mirrored by a throat ripping cry from the slim figure encasing him, he reared forwards one last time, going in deep and let it go, releasing his all within the gasping body under him. Stilling, he then moved once, twice, to shudder out his last, collapsing breathless onto Alvarez whose arms gave out and hit the bunk hard.

Grunting out in agony, tears scoring his cheeks as the move caused the Hack to slip from him, Miguel felt as if his innards were following. It was so painful. He was so sore and swollen. He could feel, above all else, the man's cum inside of him and he imagined that it scarred.

A banging on the door, followed by the plate opening slightly. "Alvarez! Shut the fuck up!" It slammed back. Further banging on other cell doors, angry at the hoots from inside. "Quiet!" screamed the guard, the sound of his baton on metal as he moved away along the corridor.

Oh! No! Shit. Shit! Miguel sobbed destitute. They had been heard by the other Hack. What of the other prisoners? Would they realise what was happening? He prayed they thought him alone and loco once more. 'His' Hack laughed between satisfied, sated panting.

Yep! Miguel was good but it was over far too soon. All the expectation, the working on the con had excited him so much and he had not been able to prolong this fuck. Still, there was next time.

Recovering, he climbed off Alvarez, off the bunk and checking himself, thought, 'good, no blood'. He looked down at Miguel as he curled up on himself, sobbing. No tearing but he would be sore. Next time he must remember to use proper lube.

He dressed slowly, watching as Miguel gradually settled, the only movement a constant clenching of a hand at the twisted sheet under him. Reaching down to retrieve his radio, settling it on his shoulder, he noticed Miguel staring up at him from the corner of his eye, face buried behind an arm. Fear, hatred and disbelief all battled for supremacy in that look.

Dressed, hands on hips, he moved to stand over the ragged figure, skin glistening with sweat. "I'll leave the lights on for half an hour. Clean yourself up. Do not be found like this in the morning." He smiled, a threat in it. "You wouldn't want that!" No reaction.

He laughed and taking something from his pocket, threw it on the bunk by Miguel's hand. Then yelling incoherently, he kicked at the wall.

The door was pulled open, the bars grinding as they slid wide. "Alvarez!" he shouted at the still man, "You were told to shut the fuck up!" A pause, "Down. NOW" and with that, he nonchalantly left the cell.

As the grill slid shut, Miguel heard over the noise from the other cells the second Hack speak. "Lopreski. You owe me a hell of a lot more than a beer for this!" Then they were gone.

Alone, in pain and despair, Miguel's hand moved to the object left on the bed. Pulling it close to his eyes, he looked to see what it was. Lip Balm.

==000==

TBC...


	5. Chapter 5

Alvarez had been left alone for two nights now but still he was not getting much sleep as, curled on his bunk, he waited. Finally he had slept as exhaustion over took him. He was certain Lopresti, as he'd heard him called, had not finished with him. If only he could have made a weapon but they had been taking no chances. He was even reduced for asking for the rapidly blunting disposable when he had shaved that morning, then being forced to hand it back immediately he'd done. He had no way of knowing it had been a request from Mukado.

The Priest would continue to help Miguel, unable to get him out of solitary, he would protect him the best he could, even from himself. Father Ray was worried what the man he had left in the corner of his cell would do to himself next.

He had tried holding onto a plastic fork but one over zealous strip search had been enough to dissuade him from trying again. He had almost sent a request to see Mukado, rehearsing what he would say but no, he did not want to admit how he had responded, how he had wanted to be fucked, made love to, even in a confessional. Tell of the rape? But he had been willing moments before. No he just could not bring himself to admit out loud to anyone what had happened.

Sometime after Lopresti had left, he had cleaned up the cell, focusing on the mundane task, ignoring the pain in his arms and the soreness of his arse as he picked up clothes and straightened his bunk. He thought of the many times that he had destroyed this cell, wanting to again, but he was unable to summon up the rage or the energy.

He was still kneeling on the floor as the lights went out. He leant forwards onto the bunk, his head on folded arms wanting to cry again but couldn't, not out of any bravado but he found that he had none left to shed.

Running over in his mind all that had happened to him since first walking shackled through the gates of Oswald's, all he had survived, done, he knew he could survive this. He would. He had fought hard and long, fought others, fought himself, had survived assassination attempts, shankings, a hanging. He would survive this. This time possibly it was not his life that was in danger, but even on that he couldn't be certain, but definitely his being, his soul.

When the Bastard next came to him, and he was sure he would, Miguel decided he would do anything he could to avoid pain, to avoid being taken in such a way again. If it meant swallowing the last of his pride, his humanity, finding an humility that was alien to him, he would just have to do it so he could survive. Survive until he could find a way out, an escape. He would do anything. He had to.

He hadn't moved for sometime until he felt a trickling over the soreness and realised warm liquid was leaking out of him and down onto his thigh. Shit, he was bleeding! It wasn't that surprising. Slowly reaching around to put fingers to the stain, kneeling back, he brought his fingers to his face, sniffed, unable to see in the darkness. Still unsure, he gingerly put fingers to his tongue. Spitting, no metallic taste, not blood then.

His mind sluggish, there was a few seconds delay then he was on his feet ignoring his aching pain and rushed to the sink. He had to clean himself. The spunk leaking from him was burning once more, in his head it was staining him, marking him, scarring him. He tried the taps, water ran, Lopresti had flicked a switch somewhere. He tried the shower, nothing. So he stood at the sink washing himself from head to toe and then again, scrubbing with the cloth every inch of his skin. Scrubbing at his hips where he could almost feel fingers still digging in, the backs of his legs, his butt then gently his asshole.

Done, still not feeling cleansed but with skin stinging, he waited to be sure nothing else would leave him then slowly moved back to the bunk. On impulse he pulled the mattress to the floor, turning it over, then lay down, curled up and begged for sleep to take him away.

Now he stood leaning on the bars, hand on stomach, the other playing with his lip, still, still dry, picking at the skin. His eyes searched the floor, not for anything in particular just something to do. He ran his tongue along his bottom lip trying to leave moisture but knowing he was just making it worse. Shit, now he could have done with that lip balm. What had he done with it? He vaguely remembered throwing the pot hard against the wall, hoping it would smash into a million pieces but it had just rebounded, shooting off. The cell was small and it must be around somewhere.

Miguel began to search then becoming frantic as the small white pot became elusive. He had to find it. It 'had' to be here. Somewhere! On hands and knees, he checked every inch of floor space. Things like this usually ended up under the bed but in here there was no under the bed. He was turning in circles now desperate to find that pot, it would not defeat him, he knew where all his stuff was, he had to.

A bang and then the slot sliding open. Even with a warning this time, a view of Alvarez' butt in the air greeted Howell. He ignored her, hands searching across the floor, trying where his eyes had found nothing.

"Alvarez? What the fuck you doin?" for once she was actually curious, "Hey, Alvarez," nothing. "Don't make me come in there!" That got his attention. She loved it that many of these so-called tough guys seemed scared of her, it made her feel good inside.

Alvarez swung around, still on all fours, eyes still searching. "So? What you doing?" she asked again enunciating the words.

"Can't find it!"

"What?"

"Can't find it!"

"Can't find what?" 'He's flipped again', she considered as she opened the outer door, peering at him through the bars and pulling her keys out. "Can't find what?" She was getting exasperated but it had been a dull shift so, what the hell?

Miguel's eyes lit on something by the bars. Coming to himself, he realised she was about to enter. No, she might take it. He sat back on his heals, hands rubbing at his temples. He knew how to be crazy. "The answer of course!"

'This's quite fascinating', she thought, 'different from last time'. "Okay, Alvarez. I'll play. The answer to what?"

'To why you're such a fuckin bitch', he felt like screaming, trying hard not to laugh. "The Reason." He began to laugh now, rocking on the spot and peering up at her through his fingers. 'Just go the fuck away.'

She stared blankly at him. 'Who was crazier,' she thought, 'him or me for listening to this crap?' One last try, "Reason for what?"

What would sound ridiculous enough for her to loose interest? He spoke the first thing that popped into his brain and it was ridiculous. Why did he think it? "Why it doesn't snow here anymore?"

Howell burst out laughing. "Alvarez, you stupid fuck. It doesn't snow because you're inside."

"But its Christmas!" shouted like a petulant child.

"But you were a very naughty boy and got locked away! No snow. No Santa for you." Laughing, she shut the door before firing her parting shot, "An anyhow, that was last week. You missed it. It's New Year's Eve. You stupid Cocksucker!" and left him, laughing as she walked away.

Alvarez felt relief, one, at the bitch going and two, as he pounced on the small white tub he had seen stuck between the bars and wall. Miguel practically scuttled back to sit against the bunk, in all appearances looking like a child guarding a prized toy from the older kids. Opening the pot, he tentively dipped a finger and, finding the resolve, spread it on his dry lips, rubbing it in. He repeated the motion several times, feeling his lips soothed. He stared off, finger still rubbing his lower lip.

Why had the Hack, he still couldn't think of him having a name, left it? As a joke? Or was he supposed to use it, to make lips soft for his return? He stilled. Realisation hit that that was exactly what he was doing. He had spent the last two nights waiting and would again tonight. Wait with mounting anticipation, but for what? Excitement or dread? He was unsure.

But he came to appreciate why he had been so desperate to find the pot. What if the man would be angry that he hadn't used it? Or would he be incensed that he had? Or if he didn't, wouldn't give it back?

How could he be in this nightmarish situation? Not the events, of those he knew he had no control, no power, but to be trapped, having no idea of how to behave, how to proceed, trying to decide what would or would not make another man angry. Being in a situation where it mattered to him so much?

Informing someone would just bring on more pain, more grief, if not a death sentence. There had obviously been others taken before him but he had heard nothing on the prison hot line and very little ever got past the populace. So either his predecessors had kept quiet as he did either from shame of fear or had been silenced. Now that frightened him afresh. But mainly he wondered how he could be in this situation not knowing whether to be looking forwards to the Hack's next visit or to dread it. For he would come he knew it. He was still so confused, so undecided.

He had been, in the past, many times. Should he take someone's sight or not? Should he kill? But all those times it was the physical consequences he worried about. Now too, but this time also the consequences that would be within himself. A divergence from a life knowing himself, knowing his desires, his sexual desires to one of being pleasured at the hands of another man. But of course there had been pain.

The Hack was a sadistic bastard, taking him from the heights of pleasure and then, when he began to feel equal and had started to fool himself he might of found someone who could possibly care for Miguel Alvarez once more, he had been brutally disabused of the notion. He was just another con, just another body to be used. It was similar to interrogation techniques he had had to cope with in the past. One minute your friend, next being knocked off balance, being made to doubt everything.

Elbows loosely on bent knees, head dangling, he bitterly laughed at himself. He was pathetic. He had just found himself seriously considering how he felt about the Hack. The Hack had used him, would undoubtedly come into the cell tonight? Tomorrow? Had hurt him badly, physically, mentally and, somehow even worse for Miguel, emotionally.

He knew he was constantly uneasy about his emotional state but this was all new. He had never had to think about it before. No matter the pain. Before the pain, he had felt his soul call out for the tenderness he had received, the gentle touch, not least forgetting getting his rocks off to someone else's ministrations and not just his own.

Throwing his head back, he silently roared at the ceiling, as he realised he knew what he must do. Anything to get that warmth back and avoid the pain. But mainly get that wonderful warmth. It had always been said that life changing decisions were made on New Year's Eve and this was to be a new Millennium, so it seemed apt for such a conversion.

He would be a bitch for that man. He would do anything he wanted him to and if it meant he had to become a prissy little Prag? Then so be it! After all, who would know except himself and the man who already thought of him that way?

For the first time in weeks, Miguel had been able to go to sleep almost immediately that his head hit the pillow. Partly due to exhaustion from the days of stress and the nights of exhaustion but mainly due to having his decision made and his mind settled. He knew finally what he should do, what he would hopefully feel, if the Hack did come back. And, if not? Then wake to a new Millennium with a new resolve to get himself in order. He was safe in here from all his troubles left back in Em City and now he felt safe with himself and his emotions.

So he slept long before 'lights out' and, if he dreamt of anything, it was of warmth.

==000==

TBC...


	6. Chapter 6

Lopresti stood gazing down at Miguel. He looked so peaceful and contented. There was even a slight smile on his lips. Obviously dreaming, he watched as the eyes moved rapidly under the lids, the face relaxed. The bruising had all but disappeared and his lips were shinny with new skin. He had an impulse just to curl on the bunk beside him, curl around him and rest.

But he also wanted him, to be inside once more but this time wanted those arms which were casually arrayed, one on his exposed stomach, the other by his head, to be wrapped tightly around him as he stared into those beautiful deep brown eyes as they both came. Shit! What was happening to him? For a moment he had almost cared about the piece of shit.

Growing angry with himself, he considered waking Alvarez by piercing him, fucking him awake. He began to undress, dropping his baton to the ground, the noise loud in the silence. Miguel mumbled in his sleep, turned onto his side towards him but didn't awaken. His hand opened as he relaxed back into sleep and a small white pot fell to the mattress. Lopresti studied it. His lip balm. He'd wondered where it had gone, forgetting he had thrown it to the prisoner.

So why was he holding it in his sleep? Ready to throw back at him? He examined the lips as they continued to mumble. He had obviously been using it. Those lips were ripe, just begging to be kissed. So what should he do? How was Alvarez going to react to his presence? Would he lash out? He appeared to be relaxed, possibly thought himself safe, having been left alone but it could be a pretence. Did he think he had tired of him? Never! Well at least for the time being. So had he best be tied?

Lopresti was not in the mood for a fight. It was bad enough having to work the holiday but at least he was on triple time. He continued to undress, wanting nothing between him and that body. He had arrived with the intention of taking his time, enhancing his enjoyment. Before, he had had to spend too long working Alvarez up into a responsive state then the man had spoilt it all, had in fact, for a moment, frightened him.

When he'd moved off the bunk and came at him, Lopreski had been taken off guard, so he had lashed out, wanting to punish the prisoner for showing him his moment of weakness. But then the man's surprise and he now realised, Miguel had not been about to attack but was being highly responsive. So he didn't want to fight. He wanted sex. Hell, a part of him even wanted to make love to the man lying naked, so unaware before him.

Finally unclothed, he decided to chance that on waking, Miguel would welcome him but knowing how he had left him last time he would be ready if the con decided to attack. Kneeling by the sleeping man's chest he leaned over and softly kissed him. Pulling back, he watched as Miguel smiled, licked his lips, rolling onto his back with eyes fluttering but still did not awaken.

Lopresti smiled again. Alvarez always seamed to resist waking up but if their places were reversed he hazarded he would not want to wake to this hell either. Bad enough working here. What was that? Compassion? He was going soft. Still? He tried again running a finger along Miguel's jawline and bent in for a longer kiss. Pulling back, he grinned into the opening eyes as Miguel mumbled, "Amante," snuggling his shoulders into the bunk.

He awoke, both their eyes wide in surprise, staring at each other. Alvarez made to move away but Lopresti put a finger to his lips and he froze. "And of whom do you dream? Who is your 'Amante'?" He was amused but didn't really care. Miguel blushed and looked away. Miguel Alvarez actually blushed.

Lopresti laughed, stood and pulled the blanket back, flinging it away. He looked along the body lying still as if not daring to move. The chest was rising and falling rapidly showing Miguel's anxiety. Looking down his muscled stomach, the flat taut belly to linger on the sight of his prick, already showing interest. 'For me' he thought 'or from his dream?' Down the legs, tensed, almost trembling in the effort to stay still then up all the way along, back to those eyes.

Alvarez felt so exposed and vulnerable but then he was. He was completely defenceless. Yes, he could lash out but doubted it would be wise and really he didn't want to. He couldn't fight any more. Why was he just looking at him? Why doesn't he do something? Let him know if he would have the warmth, the touch he craved or would it be another assault? Just a using of his body? His eyes were searching those above him which were so close but appearing so distant.

A finger ran from his throat straight down the centre of his body to just above his prick. He arched his back at the contact, he couldn't help it. He gasped, biting at his lip. That was all it took and Lopresti was on him. He climbed quickly but carefully onto the bunk, onto him, lying full out, chest to chest, groin to groin, mouth to mouth.

Miguel felt arms wrap around him as he was treated to one of those gloriously long, all-encompassing kisses, the sort he longed for, craved for and now enjoyed. His arms rose up to wrap around the large body on top of him but then stopped, letting them drop back to the bunk. 'Remember,' he told himself, 'do nothing to make him angry. Do whatever he wants.' But he so wanted to wrap himself around this man.

The kiss ended or, more rightly, paused as Lopresti, supporting himself on straight arms, raised up to look down at Miguel and wriggled, forcing himself between the lower man's legs. His prick was pressing into Miguel's, both hardening rapidly.

As he looked into those staring eyes, Miguel had a twinge of doubt, fear. This man had hurt him badly and now he was under him, under him both physically and mentally. He told himself this was wrong but as Lopresti ran one hand down his side, onto a hip, along his thigh and urged his leg up onto himself, Miguel forgot all and wrapped his legs high and tight around him, mouth reaching as the Hack settled back down to resume the kiss.

Miguel's arm came up and around as Lopresti began to push down on him causing their cocks to press together. Only a few thrusts and Lopresti began to pull away, moving back on the bunk. Miguel let out a groan of dismay. he wasn't sure was feigned, but the Hack kissed away along his body, notifying that he would be back. Reluctantly Miguel let him go, head falling sideways on the flat pillow.

Had he done wrong in grabbing at him? He looked fearfully from the corner of his eye. Lopresti had bent to retrieve his pants, quickly finding a pocket and extracting a tube of lube. His movements were quick and there were suddenly fingers on Alvarez' asshole, a hand on his belly as he felt the lube being spread on his rim, a finger entering before he had time to panic. Lopreski was breathing hard, he glanced up at Miguel's face impatiently, waiting for him to relax.

Miguel could not face that look. It spoke too much of anger when he wanted tenderness. He knew he was not going to get his wish, so covered his eyes with a wrist, his other hand clutching at the sheet by his side, telling himself not to be scared, he could do this, be pliant.

He made his body relax, a hard task feeling the intrusion. No matter what he'd decided, he still felt a good deal of apprehension. Slowly his asshole adjusted and he sucked in air as he felt the finger enter to it's limit. Again the Hack gave him some time but he could feel the hand on his belly pressing in hard signalling he would not wait long.

Slowly Lopresti began to wriggle the finger, circling, pulling out, pushing in and Miguel began to realise the sensations he felt were not the pain he had expected. His legs already bent, he drew up more, stretching wider, his hips beginning to move in time with that probing finger. Another slick finger entered him and his hips came off the bunk, now both hands at his sides grabbing at the sheet. He was being stretched widened, prepared.

Actually beginning to enjoy the physicality of the feeling, he almost whimpered at their removal. Raising his head to see Lopresti's eyes concentrating on the task in hand, that of lining himself up, Miguel bit his lip. His belly flipped in excitement as once more he felt the other man's cock enter him but so different than to the last time. He gasped as, in one movement, Lopresti was in him. Elbows supporting the man, he plunged into Miguel and caught that mouth in one of those crushing bruising kisses.

If he made an obvious response, leading the Hack to believe he truly wanted him to do this, maybe he would continue to be 'gentler' with him and then, just maybe, Miguel would receive some tenderness. He had to try. He was going to be fucked, hell, he was being fucked, and he had to convince himself that it was what he wanted and that way avoid the despair of his situation and hopefully, pain. Besides, if he could convince himself, surely it would be easier to convince the man that was once more ramming into him?

Resolved, Alvarez responded. In the short time the Hack gave his body to adjust to his presence, Miguel was wrapped around him, legs high on his back, pulling him forwards, arms grasping at his back, his shoulders, trying to crush him close. There was no room for thoughts of if he was doing the right thing as his mind began to reel under the control the other exerted over his body.

Allowing all his weight to lie on the gasping figure under him, Lopresti grabbed at the man's hair, pushing deep inside with tongue as well as prick. He could not get enough of the heat on his cock, on his tongue. He wanted to ram into him but remembered he had determined to enjoy savouring the experience this time.

He began a slow steady rhythm, gliding smoothly forwards and back, pulling nearly all the way out then back in to that tight, all consuming, heat. He shifted again, forcing his arms and hands under Miguel, pulling him closer and tighter, rocking on his body as he buried his face in Miguel's neck kissing, biting, uncaring if he left marks.

Alvarez held on just as tightly as he could. The pain in his asshole this time more of a stretching and amazingly the prick rubbing up and back inside of him sent pleasurable sensations cursing through his belly. His cock was hard, trapped between their bodies and was being pressed with each forwards movement. He could feel moisture on his skin as his head began to leak. Lopresti was obviously taking his time. He kept changing rhythms, long and hard, then fast, then slow even deeper thrusts. Each time Miguel thought he would cum, the tempo changed.

Lopresti moved on him, kissing his neck, his chin then raising to stare down at him. Miguel's legs were tense with the pressure he was using to urge the man on. His hands were digging in, pulling at the man's shoulders, his waist, his butt, constantly moving groaning out in pleasure. He bit lightly at a shoulder. Immediately he was worried but surely this time the Hack would not stop to punish him as his breathing was ragged as he continued. This couldn't go on surely? The man would have to cum soon?

Bodies grinding against each other, Miguel gave as many marks as he received. This was no gentle lovemaking. He was being fucked and he thought he was loving every moment of it. He never wanted the feeling to stop. There was relatively little pain and the man was being passionate, was here 'with' him. He needed the feeling to continue, that warmth but he could feel his climax building as was the other's. Lopresti's breathing became ragged, harsh, grunting in time to his movements.

Lopreski knew he could not continue much longer. All his muscles were bunching, burning, rising to that instance of release. Miguel's cock, digging hard into his belly, seemed to echo the sentiment. He rose up onto extended arms having to pull away from clinging ones. Miguel made to rise with him as he obviously did not want to let go. "No," quietly but brooking no contradiction.

Brief hurt fluttered across those deep beautiful eyes as Miguel fell back as if stung. Lopresti watched as Miguel looked up at him uncertain, as his hands raised tentatively to touch his chest. Lopresti stilled his thrusting and, face tight at the effort, pressed his belly repeatedly onto Miguel's prick. Still watching as Miguel threw back his head, now clutching at the straining chest above.

Enough! "Look at me." Gasping, Alvarez' head came forwards, those wide eyes searching his, licking his lips as his breath came in short sharp shudders. Pulling his prick out, almost leaving him, he paused a moment then thrust back in as hard as he could, drowning in those eyes. One more slow, long, deep thrust then he stilled as he jerked, feeling that wonderful release deep inside the quivering body beneath with an answering wetness across his stomach.

His eyes loosing their focus, he indeed felt that he was drowning in that richness gazing back at him. A shudder, a quiver and he collapsed down, cheek catching on Miguel's as he panted into the pillow beneath them. He felt exhausted, emptied, yet full and contented. As the body beneath him stilled then relaxed, he relished the feel of arms encircling his back, hands delicately running along his spine, legs heavy on him but no longer tensely pulling but resting. He never wanted to move, just remain eternally like this. This was the time he always savoured, knowing that he'd won, he had the victory. He had him, and not just in body.

Miguel could not believe the weight on him. He should feel crushed but it was wonderful. A body, exhausted, panting on him, due to him, the man's prick now soft inside of him, inside of his body but it was more than that. He was inside of him, his whole. He had had a moments doubt, of hurt, at that low command but it had been so the man could look into his eyes. He had wanted to see him and it had made his heart glad. He wasn't just a body.

This Hack, this man Lopresti, he finally thought his name, had wanted to come for Miguel Alvarez. Not just in a body and had taken time to make sure that he did too. Not as an after thought, not incidentally but to come together, staring at each other. Miguel could have cried but for totally different reasons than before.

His heart was full, it had swelled because here at last, someone had cared enough about him if even just for a moment, to do something for him, concerned at his pleasure, for him! The body was still above him, holding him and he never wanted to move. He wanted to hold onto this moment, to this feeling forever. But he also wanted to kiss this man. To let him know all he found himself feeling. His hands moving lovingly across the broad smooth back, he moved his head to kiss at the shoulder, the neck, twisting slightly to place light but heart felt touches on the man's face.

The movement brought Lopresti back from the moment's peace he had found. Found in the arms of a prisoner! He had lost himself in those eyes, moving to a place far distant from a small room with grey walls, metal fittings and bars. He pulled back. He pulled back from Miguel who sighed as he felt the man slipping from him. He pulled back from the look on that face, from the tenderness and the emotion he saw there. He pulled back.

Miguel placed a hand on his face and raised up towards him. He, in turn, put a hand on Alvarez' chest, pushing him back, away. Miguel looked questioningly at him, then spoke, "Please. Kiss me?" Lopresti bent forwards then stopped. No this was not right! He was just a fuck. Something to pass the time on a long boring nightshift. He was not a lover. Not someone to care about! He felt a slight tugging within himself calling him a liar. He was angry. The flip in his stomach made him angry. The look on Miguel's face made him angry.

He made to leave the bunk and Alvarez was grabbing at him, trying to hold on to him. He threw the piece of shit off and sprang up to stand rigid by the bunk, blood suffusing his face as he stared down at the body. That is all he was. Just a body. To be used again and again as long as he felt the lust. The expression on Miguel's face, the longing, disbelief and despair were all battling for control of those features. Lopresti saw tears well up and it fuelled his anger.

Shit! It was as if the little bastard had fallen for him. Didn't he know the rules? This had never happened before. All his previous bodies, as he thought of the prisoners he had fucked, used, had all known the score. They had known he came to them only for his own pleasure, some meeting him on the same terms, enjoying the encounters and wanting the chance of a good fuck. Others just let him do as he would, never complaining but just taking it, knowing fear, despair and that they had no choice. Both had been fine with him.

No entanglements, no responsibilities or repercussions once he had tired of them. Some moving onto their next fuck just as he did. Others, thankful that he would finally leave them alone, turned and tried to deal with the next shitty thing to happen. All kept quiet for differing reasons. They kept the truth to themselves. All realising one thing in common, he was an officer and they just prisoners.

This was beginning to seem different. Alvarez appeared to be becoming emotionally involved in this bit of distraction. Shit! That's what you get for playing with someone with a rep for being unstable. He was going to have to do some serious thinking on how to handle this. But one thing was for certain, he wasn't finished with him yet, not by a long way.

Miguel moved to kneel on the bunk facing him, hands slowly reaching for him, his eyes pleading. He couldn't believe this was happening, not now. They had just been passionate, a meeting of both bodies and consciousness'. If not a lovemaking, it had been far more than just a fuck, more than just sex! Why was he now stood there so angry? What had he done wrong now? All he had asked for was a kiss. He had wanted to seal this feeling he had inside, never to forget how this man had managed to make him feel. For such a brief time he had been able to leave this hell and be in a place of pleasure, of fulfilment. For a moment Miguel had managed to be at peace. Was that really too much to ask for, to hope for even for someone like him?

Alvarez raised up on his knees and very quietly asked, "Por favor?" His whole heart, his soul was in his eyes. Lopreski just stood, the only reply the harshness in his eyes, on his face, his whole demeanour. Miguel collapsed back onto his heals, "Lopresti? Por favor?" A hand raised then dropped along with his head.

Lopresti rose onto the balls of his feet, hands fisting at his sides. He wanted to strike out and wipe that pathetic pleading needy look of his face. It was getting to him through all his barriers, defences and he didn't like it. He forced himself to relax, recalling how his anger before had marred that face and he had regretted it. Instead, ignoring Miguel, he began to dress. A shifting on the bunk and his attention snapped back to the other man. He should be careful here, he had to remember there was an unpredictable violence wrapped up in that body.

But Alvarez had just fallen to the side, burying his face in the pillow with hands over his head. The view was tantalising. His back clenched, the muscles standing out were contrasted with the smoothness of the hip and the curve of the buttock. No, Lopresti had definitely not tired of his latest toy.

He felt a fresh stirring but, glancing at his watch, finished dressing. He had only managed to get the other Hack to cover him for an hour and the time was nearly up. He had wasted some of it just watching a man sleep. But he couldn't resist touching that thigh. Bending down, he placed his palm on Miguel's left buttock, fingers spread and digging into his crack. The man flinched and Lopresti dug harder then ran his hand up Miguel's back to grasp the nape of his neck.

Miguel did not want to move, he had been waiting for the man to leave him, not wanting to see, to think or to feel anything. It had happened again. He had been almost happy then a brief moment, one look and it was all stripped away. The hand on his neck was pulling at him, urging at him to rise. He didn't want to but, as the hand became insistent, he remembered he was nothing but a 'bitch' for this man. That's what he had decided, agreed on with himself and he must not do anything else to make him angry, angrier.

So he raised himself up, following the hand's lead. Before he was upright he was swallowed by strong arms surrounding, holding him up and his mouth was captured for a gruelling, intense and passionate kiss. His hands trapped against his body, all he could do was melt into the sensation. Gladly, willingly he dissolved. When released, he fell back breathless, gazing up at Lopresti and trying to understand this man who could so easily and suddenly switch from passion to tenderness to anger and back.

Then the Hack left him.

Hand still on the bars, peering through, Lopresti spoke with humour. "Oh, by the way, Alvarez. Happy New Year," and was gone.

Miguel stared at the closing door as confused as ever, not knowing that he was not alone in that confusion.

==000==

TBC...


	7. Chapter 7

Lopresti stood in the corridor, hand still on the door, studying his feet. He smiled to himself. It was new having one of his playthings actually develop 'feelings' for him. The smile disappeared. It was also new that he felt something too. Something other than contempt. He stared through the door, almost as if he could see Alvarez. 'The Body,' he corrected himself.

Movement along the corridor indicated it was time for the final check before 'Lights out'. As it was Alvarez' turn, Lopresti looked in almost expecting to see a curled figure but Miguel was looking straight at him, his face almost pleading. 'That's it', he thought and with no consideration of his fellow officer's concern, reopened the cell door swiftly pushing across the bars.

Miguel sat up, gazing at him hopefully, yearning for a kind word, a soft touch and found himself lifted by the throat, then rammed into the wall by the bunk head. Breathless, he tried to prise the hand from around his neck, to be released winded, falling to the floor and before he could regain his breath he was slapped hard once again on his left cheek, the pain intense on the already bruised flesh. Tears sprang to his eyes. What the fuck had he done to deserve this? Nothing, he had done nothing.

Rage intense and boiling as he cradled his face, staring out hate and death at the man while Lopresti stood adjusting his clothes and sneering down at him. Alvarez remained crouched, getting his breath back, seemingly relaxing with all resistance gone then, on feeling the derisive laughter more than hearing it, he launched. He had had way enough of this, he could no longer just meekly submit. Fuck the consequences, he had to hurt this Bastard who was hurting him in so many different ways.

As his hands grabbed for Lopresti's throat, his momentum took then both against the sink. Snarling in fury, he delighted at the sudden look of fear meeting him and the noise the man made as he was bent back painfully over the metal basin. On pulling back a fist to smash in that face, he was hit across the back, the pain from the baton cruel but hardly registering as he centred on his tormentor. Grabbed by an arm around his throat, the punch glanced off his target as he was swung around and forced to the ground, crashing into the side of the bunk. He spun on the spot but the Nightstick, landing repeatedly, dissuaded him from further assault and he curled up trying to protect himself.

The blows suddenly ceased and he peered up under an arm and, through the pain, saw the shocked face of the punishing Hack as Lopresti caught his arm in a tight grip preventing further injury. "Enough!"

"Are you Fuckin' crazy?"

"Enough. Leave him."

The other Officer stood back, breathing hard while keeping a wary eye on the possibly subdued prisoner. "What the Hell are you playin' at? He could a killed you!"

Lopresti too studied Alvarez. "Leave," he instructed the other in blue.

"What the hell you gonna do? I aint covering for you anymore. When they find out, you're on your own!"

"Really?" and taking the disgruntled guard by the arm, Lopresti led him from the cell without even a backward glance to the curled figure on the floor.

Miguel could not hear what was being said but he hoped, no doubt futilely, that it meant that the nocturnal visits would end. Agonisingly slowly, he began to push himself up off the floor, leaning heavily on the bunk. He didn't think he could manage it as his legs turned to jelly under him. He glanced at the door, wide open, but knew he wouldn't get far even if he could have made it into the corridor.

Gritting his teeth, he finally succeeded in crawling onto the bunk and sat gingerly, pulling himself against the corner, the cold wall wonderful to his stinging back.

"You ready for me?" The con looked up as Lopresti studied him then closed them in together. Turning, the Hack smiled. Now that was more the look he liked to see on his 'body's' face and began to undress once more.

Alvarez beheld him with horror as he began to shake his head minutely. "Please..no.." almost a whisper. He held a hand up with a semblance of warding off what he dreaded would happen now. Lopresti grabbed his wrist with one hand and cupped his face hard with the other.

Miguel pleaded, "Please, Por favor.. no more…" But there was to be. "Please…Stop?"

But Lopresti did not.

==000==

"Clean yourself up. You're a Fuckin' mess." Lopresti scanned around him, "An' clean this cell." Then locking him in with a final sneer, he left.

Alvarez didn't think he could move but, never mind the order, he could not remain like this. He could smell them in the confined space. He could smell it on himself. That sickly sweet smell of 'sex', sweat, cum and this time mixed in with the aromas of anger and desperation. But it was the stickiness covering his body that forced him to find the will to stand and lurch to the sink. Rinsing the flannel, the one he had watched Lopresti use, he stared at it feeling his bile rise but then set to cleaning himself.

Once more he scrubbed from head to toe, causing his skin to smart. Switching to cold water, he laid the sopping flannel soothingly on his, no doubt, soon to be bruised flesh. It became a monototomy as he treated each area, his mind trying to desist from distinguishing between the patches caused earlier by the baton and the ones caused by hands. His eyes travelled to the red marks on his thighs and he slumped, holding onto the sink, his knuckles turning white with the pressure.

He had to cover them, the bite marks were livid and he could not stand to see his own body. Casting around, he dragged on the first pair of pants he found, wanting to collapse and sleep, hopefully let his mind take him to a distant place or just for the oblivion of slumber. About to sink onto the bunk he froze.

He had been ordered to clean the cell and he must. If he didn't, if he refused and left it as it was, he knew that Lopresti would 'punish' him more. How had he ever thought that Lopresti could possibly be someone who would care about, for him?

Not wanting to think any more, he cleaned, he tidied then finally sat on the edge of his bunk, head in hands. He was exhausted but each time he closed his eyes, he saw stark images of what had happened, of what the Hack had done to him. They kept replaying over and over and worse, much worse, was the vision of what he himself had done in response.

Disgusted with himself, he knew he had done, if not willingly, all that had been commanded of him, but still, he had done it. He had lied repeatedly in response to all Lopresti's questions. Surely the Hack knew that? But all Miguel had thought was if he answered as the man so obviously wanted maybe he would be satisfied, maybe he would leave and maybe Miguel could survive.

The questions was a new torture and had come so often and so fast that he almost began to believe what he was confirming, what he was begging for, was the truth. That, yes, that's what he wanted, no, it wasn't hard enough, yes, he did deserve to be treated as nothing but a toy. He seemed to be answering correctly but still there came a point when he thought it was all over, that Lopresti was going to kill him. He had begged and he had pleaded, not to be left alone, not for the man to leave, he knew that would not have worked and possibly been fatal, but for the Hack to, 'yes, please, por favor, don't stop'.

He wanted to be sick and falling onto his side he curled up, clutching himself tightly. Why didn't the lights go off? Now he begged that it didn't mean there was to be another return. He wanted to hide, make himself as small as possible. Trapped in that small grey metal 'box', he still felt on show.

The panel slid back. He was frozen. "Sit up." He did, "Look at me." He did. Lopresti had an approving smile on his face as he surveyed the cell. "Good Boy." And the panel slid shut.

Alvarez roared to his feet and, as elsewhere in the prison, some slept oblivious, some looked forwards to a new start in a new Millennium and still others come to terms with themselves and each other, Miguel Alvarez lost awareness of everything except the rage consuming his soul and destroyed the cell that he had so recently and meticulously cleaned.

==000==

TBC...


	8. Chapter 8

Epilogue

* * *

The prison was in 'Lockdown'. The only difference it made down here was that everyone was too busy to bother visiting. The pills kept coming, delivered by a nervous looking orderly, food was shoved through the bars by disgruntled harassed Hacks, leaving Miguel time to brood and heal in his new cell, identical to the last.

It continued. Miguel spent his days pondering on all that was happening to him both physically and emotionally but never reaching a theory, never mind a solution. He longed for the nocturnal visits but dreaded the times when the Hack just came to use him. Taken violently one time and the next, Lopresti would seemingly be loving towards him, leaving Miguel with a longing for him to return.

Then a return to be flung against the bars and rammed as if he were rutted with. He knew the heights of passion and love and the depths of despair. He had learnt how to give head, the pride he could feel in bringing another trembling to his knees but also the gagging horror as he was fucked there, a hard cock forced to the back of his throat.

The odd nights he was left alone, he awoke refreshed, he had had a nights desperately needed sleep but he felt an emptiness aching inside. Two nights now he had been left untouched. His body, although needing time to rest, called out for attention. He tried to ignore the pulsing in his belly extending to his cock then finally with nothing else to think on, he could not contain himself any longer. He stood there, hands in his briefs and had to release the pressure. A bang on the door, his name called and he turned to see the disgusted face of Howell. Obviously not in the mood ,she carried on to the next cell.

A bang a name called and an, "Oh Fuck!" He rushed to the panel, still open tying to see what was going on. He heard something about paperwork for a month but could not see anything. He spent the day wondering what circumstance had so pissed off that whore bitch of a Hack, for once something to occupy his mind other than waiting for lights out.

That night he was ordered to hold onto the bed rail no matter what so, prone on his back, hands above his head, he was treated to soft touches and caressing, cumming repeatedly as his body was played for all it was worth.

The following day brought something new. Called from their cells, chained together, all the prisoners in isolation were paraded to the basket ball court. Walking round and around, he had a chance to stretch his legs and for brief conversation not realising that his troubles were about to follow him from the Emerald City.

That night he was pummelled, coaxed and enjoyed, wondering where this man got his energy from. Miguel was totally knackered and all he had to do was take it! Admittedly Miguel came much more often than the Hack who seemed to delight in seeing just how many times he could make the younger man cum, sometimes leaving him almost unconscious. And he did not always use his prick to do it.

Alvarez had had fingers inside him, the baton was a regular visitor and, on one painful occasion, a fist. The man could not seem to leave Miguel's prick alone although one thing he had always denied him was what his mouth would feel like surrounding it.

It all happened so fast. One moment, tramping around and around in that damn chained circle, bantering with his fellow captives and the next, in a hospital bed. Out of solitary and into intensive care.

And now?

Now he was free on a street, the night time city lights bright around him. He was cold, hunched in his meagre jacket, hands in pockets and, as the Police car drove away, he bent, picking up the discarded cigarette.

He wondered briefly if Lopresti missed him. Or had he already moved on to his next fuck? Miguel had a pang of lose but he was free. He could move on. Leave it all behind, the confusion, the doubt, the feelings of helplessness and, as he ran along the city street he thought, 'Ah well!'

==000==

END

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A/N... Thankyou for reading this, my first ever fan fiction story. Written a few years ago now but my first time posting it. Cheers.


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